


Bullets, Tea & Bruises

by dont_rainonme



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, 進撃の巨人 | Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Engineer Reader, Explicit Language, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Levi Ackerman is Bad at Feelings, Levi is In Denial (Shingeki no Kyojin), Lots of backstory, Marley Arc (Shingeki no Kyojin), Mind Games, Reader-Insert, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Manga Spoilers, Slow Burn, War for Paradis Arc (Shingeki no Kyojin), he can also be an asshole, levi is shit at feelings, making the plot for this was too fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29584137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dont_rainonme/pseuds/dont_rainonme
Summary: You left the military years ago, but with the fear that arose in wake of the Battle of Trost, came also a new hope for humanity.With the discovery of the titan shifter Eren Jaegar and the set of bullets with unclear origins, you find yourself dragged back into the military as an engineer, forced to face all that you had left behind: previous studies, old comrades, an abandoned legacy and the pair of gunmetal eyes that you soon find an unexpected solace in.
Relationships: Levi Ackerman & Reader, Levi Ackerman/Reader
Comments: 25
Kudos: 86





	1. a father's regret, his children's resolve

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Landlocked](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824587) by [CaptainDegenerate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainDegenerate/pseuds/CaptainDegenerate). 



> ever since i read levi's arc in landlocked by captaindegenerate, i really liked the idea of having a reader who could shoot and use a rifle, and thus, this story was born 
> 
> this story will go into season 4/manga material until the very end and i have the main plot fleshed out up to around chapter 128 so hopefully you guys can stick around until then and beyond :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post battle of trost  
> ; amongst the nightmares and hardships, a new hope blossoms

The metal digs into his wrists and there’s an unforgiving grip around the skin from the officer that’s persistent in tugging him away, but he does not care. His eyes are wide behind wired glasses, focused solely on the younger man in front of him - his _brother_. Their eyes meet, but he finds no remnants of sympathy nor regret behind the icy glare that looked down on him.

“ _Why_?” He breathes, voice only growing louder with the hurt from this _betrayal_ seeping into his words. Pain bursts against his knees as he’s dragged over the threshold of his home, “ _Why? Why, Alistair_? Why would you do this, brother?”

“You did this to yourself, Ernest,” the reply he gains is cold, blunt, empty. He’s talking to a stranger, “No renegade is a brother of mine.”

And with that, the young man turns, and now _he’s_ fighting his restraints with more fire than ever, calling for his brother who’s now slipping from his fingers entirely.

He’s lost him.

It’s the final thought that plagues his mind when he’s knocked out cold.

**-+-**

He jolts up with a shuddering gasp, trembling hands reaching for his face which drag down the cold-sweat skin. The sheets cling to his body and it’s like they’re choking him, suffocating him and all of a sudden, he can’t breathe. _Shit_. It had been a while since he had relapsed and his memory-merged dreams were hardly this vivid before. It must’ve been the stress from the breach a week ago.

Something encircles both his wrists and try to pry them away from his face. It takes him a moment to snap out of his half-conscious state to realise that around his skin isn’t the cold metal of handcuffs, but the warm, firm hands of his daughter.

“Father?” Though your voice is gentle your concern was clear. He hadn’t responded to your previous questions; you repeat yourself, “Can you hear me? Are you okay? Do you want me to call for a doctor again?”

His eyes are clearer than before when you saw them behind the gaps in his fingers. You relax, bringing both of his hands into your own on top of the bedsheets, just as you had done many times before. He shakes his head.

“Did I wake you?” He asks, voice hoarse. He drinks the water you automatically hand him.

“No. I was still downstairs. You were talking in your sleep.”

“I see,” he says quietly, expression pinched with something unreadable as he was clearly thinking something over, “You don’t need to worry about me anymore, (Y/N). I’ll be okay.”

The look you give him as you move to stand isn’t exactly one of doubt, but it’s far from unkind when you close the door behind you with a faint, “ _goodnight_ ”. Darkness envelops the room once more, and it's now with a clearer mind than before, he reflects. It’s sorrowful.

_You did this to yourself, Ernest._

Maybe he was right. Sighing, he suppresses a tired groan, not wanting to worry you any further as he slips back into his sheets. Even if you tried to hide it, he’s fully aware of the way your care for his health has taken a toll on your own. He regrets doing this to you, he regrets his younger self’s heedlessness, the crumbling relationship he had with his brother, the neglect and ignorance he showed him, realising his mistakes when it was only far too late.

He regrets that day more than anything.

**-+-**

You yawn, slipping down the stairs as you stretched an arm behind your back. You hadn’t realised your fatigue until your father had asked a few moments ago, but the night was still relatively young (by your standards anyway - the hour had just passed one in the morning) and you decided to entertain the silence that came with the rise of the moon a little longer.

A kettle heats over the fire in the hearth and once it comes to a gentle boil, you pour it over the bed of herbal leaves in a chipped teacup, the printed design faded away from its continuous use. The tea burns your throat slightly, yet you sigh content, sinking into your chair at the kitchen table. You needed this.

It had been a few years now - _maybe two, or was it three?_ \- that you had been looking after your father full-time at home in Trost. Whilst you didn’t mind the role, you would be lying to yourself when you said it wasn’t a draining job at times and while you truly did love your father, it did get rather lonely in the house. You had kind neighbours, but they were far from your age, and you would rather clean the whole house thoroughly _twice_ than admit that your only other source of company was from the cat that frequented often in the neighbourhood. _Still_ , you think with a slight frown, you had very little options and it had been a while since _he_ had last visite—

A sharp procession of solid knocks sound at the door. Your frown deepens and your eyes thin with suspicion. It was far too late for any visitors, and you hadn’t asked for a doctor. A part of you thinks to grab your rifle from your room as a precaution but you think better of it when the knocks sound again, this time firmer, this time more _urgent_.

You swing the wood open, caught completely off guard at the sight of the man standing in front of you. It had been a few months since you last saw him, and ever since then, his existence to you was no more than the neat writing on parchment in a series of letters you both exchanged.

“Erwin! You never said you were coming.”

“My apologies,” his voice deep and low, more than likely aware that your father was asleep upstairs, “I know it’s late, but I needed to speak to you and it was far too risky through our letters. Things have been busy.”

Blinking, you let him in without any further resistance where he seats himself opposite your chair at the table. His presence is still as impressive as always, only further enhanced by the cosy interior of your home and the freshly-filled teacup you push his way, which looked far too small in his war-beaten hands. He’s still in his military attire, that familiar green cloak wrapped around those broad shoulders of his, and you suspect he had just returned from a meeting of some sorts somewhere in the district.

Reaching into one of the inner pockets of the tan jacket all the Scouts wore, Erwin drops something on the table. _Bullets_ , you realise immediately. They clatter metallically against the wood of the table and the blond looks up at you, as if to urge you to take a look.

“What are these?” You take the closest one that rolled towards you between your fingers and from the feel alone, you can tell: “These aren’t your usual lead rifle bullets.”

The Commander releases an amused breath, “You’re still as sharp as ever. Do you still have that rifle of yours?”

“I do. Still practice with it sometimes as well.”

Sitting up a little more straighter, he begins to explain, a bullet pinched between his thumb and forefinger, “ _These_ were retrieved from the titan remains of a discovered titan-shifter. We’ve only recently managed to get him into our custody.”

“Titan shifter? You don’t mean-?”

“This individual can turn into a titan at will. I’m sure you’ve seen what happened here in Trost -“ You give a nod, albeit somewhat grim. It was just over a week ago when you and your father had to evacuate the district and although you had moved back into your home without any further issue, you could only imagine the mental strain it had on him, “-and its there the boy - Eren Jaegar - ‘awakened’ his ability and transformed for the first time. Using this power, he was able to seal the hole-“, well that would explain the large boulder now in place of the gate, “-but if this is the case, then-“

“-Then the Colossal and Armoured responsible for five years ago are likely to be humans too,” you finish for him, catching on quickly. Taking a sip of his tea, Erwin nods, impressed.

“During the clean-up, we extracted these bullets from the body but we soon realised they’re not the standard military-issued ones.”

Your brows knit together in a slight scowl, “It’s not uncommon for people to make their own bullets.”

“It’s not,” he agrees, “Except _ordinary_ rifle bullets are useless against titans; they can’t even pierce the skin. Witness reports from the trainees in Trost state that when Jaegar’s titan was shot with these, it was enough to stun - even _incapacitate_ \- him. Obviously, he’s alive, but his titan form took some damage.”

“You mean _these_ are potentially capable of taking down a titan?” You ask and Erwin can hear the growing intrigue in your tone. Despite the weariness he had noticed across your face earlier, your eyes had taken on a sharpened gleam in them - he was all too familiar with that look.

“Yes. However, we’re unable to identify what they’re made of and nobody knows who shot them,” leaning back in his chair, he shrugs his shoulders, “Currently though, this is all classified military information.”

“So someone’s secretly manufactured anti-titan weaponry and you want to find out what makes its components and replicate them,” you summarise, mostly for yourself especially after this large influx of information. It was refreshing seeing him again. You were curious; this discussion _did_ align with your specific line of work. Except: “Why tell me all this if it’s classified? You know I left the military years ago.”

Erwin sighs, and in a rare privatised moment such as this, he allows himself to reveal how he’s just as tired as you are.

“I know,” and with his fingers locked together and elbows on the table, he surveys you directly with those keen blue eyes of his, “I hate to ask you of this now, but I need you to do me a favour.”

“What?”

“Join the Survey Corps. I’m offering you a position as an engineer within our ranks.”

His words are so direct, so _upfront_ that both your nose and throat sting from the tea you threatened to choke out. He merely quirks a brow, slightly entertained as you cough into your elbow, though you recover quickly. When you speak, your words come out harsher than you intended them to be.

“ _What?_ Why me? You know I have hardly any time looking after—“

“I can arrange for any doctors or carers to take your place if you agree to return,” he interjects, “Besides, you’re the only one I can fully trust with this. You have the knowledge, you have the experience. If you manage to replicate these bullets, it’ll mean humanity’ll have an upper hand on the titans and we can consider the possibility of long-distance attacks. I just don’t want this information ending up in the wrong hands.”

“ ‘ _Offering_ ’ my ass,” you mutter, caring very little whether or not whether the Commander had heard you. Sighing, you look at him, “You’re not going to give me much choice on this are you?"

And for the first time during your talk so early in the morning, he quips a small, boyish smile, “Not exactly.”

“Fine,” _asshole_ , but you trusted him plenty, “When do you want me in?”

“I’ll give you three days to prepare anything you need and I can leave the bullets with you if you wish to analyse them beforehand-“, you give a nod to that, “-However, keep the details and your work on the bullets entirely confidential and ensure your reports, written or oral, are delivered to me directly yourself. I’ll have a new uniform ready for you when you arrive and I’ve assigned you your own office. There’s an expedition coming up in a month that I know you’ll be able to prove yourself in.”

“You’ve thought this out well,” you remark, pausing before you grin at the blond, “You haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you,” he smiles and as he moves to get up, you follow him out the door, “How is he by the way? Our father?”

Leaning against the doorframe, you cross your arms, half shrugging, “Given his mental state he’s okay. He’s asleep now but he had another one of those nightmares of his just before you came. He’s still recovering from what happened in Trost and… _you know -_ the thing with mother. _”_

“I see,” Erwin says, looking pensive before schooling his features once more, “Give him my regards and apologies that I couldn’t see him myself when he wakes up.”

“I will.”

“I’ll see you in three days then. Goodnight (Y/N).”

He mounts his horse.

"Goodnight, brother."

And with the turn of his cape, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how do we feel about having erwin as a brother? he's definitely my favourite snk character and i couldn't help giving him and the reader quite a close relationship - it's definitely a dynamic I'm going to have fun with especially with the plot line.
> 
> this story will stick to the main canon story, but there are sub-plots and lore that i have planned to make it more interesting.
> 
> any criticisms/feedback is greatly appreciated! ty for reading :)


	2. a mother’s legacy, her children’s honour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> around a month prior to the 57th expedition  
> ; old memories resurface and you’re forced to face both old and new

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ik there's a lot of speculation regarding hange's gender, so to make it easier i'll be using they/them pronouns for them :)
> 
> enjoy reading!

When you look in the mirror, it’s almost as if _she’s_ staring back at you.

The leather straps that bind around your chest and thighs give a taut pull as you twist around in front of the reflective glass. The new uniform had arrived the night before, and you’re somewhat surprised at how easily you slip back into it as you once did all those years ago as an early-graduated student from the University of Stohess. You had been no more than just a mere trainee under the authority of one of the many senior officers in the military’s engineering wing, but you had quickly proved yourself in your work - designing and testing weaponry - before your abrupt resignation.

The pants chafe against your legs and you’ve chosen to wear a white button-up with the brown knee-high boots you were also sent. However, instead of the coat embellished with the mark of the Survey Corps on your back, sits in lieu, the cracked, broken-in jacket of your mother’s. Unlike the one Erwin had sent, it was plain at the back, but was still that familiar tan colour, and lining the edge of one of the collars were three pins: a rose, a horned mare and a set of wings. The three insignias of the three military regiments your mother had pledged her devotion and duty to. Now, you were being asked to do the same, only this time, just for the Survey Corps.

Your father’s eyes flash with recognition at the jacket when you hug him your farewells. It’s bittersweet. The doctor Erwin had promised arrives shortly afterwards, and following a brief, polite introduction between the three of you, you’re on your horse, your rifle slung lazily across your back, heading straight for the Survey Corps’ base.

**-+-**

The first thing you notice instantly is the desk against the wall.

The ride to the cantonment had been fairly uneventful, with your horse now resting in the many stalls the stables had available. Memories of the base’s layout remained fairly vague from previous, concise visits, though to your relief, you had managed to find the office you were assigned to without much issue. At least you wouldn’t have to be _that_ person who had to embarrassingly ask for directions. Aside from Erwin and a few veterans, you were but a stranger to everybody else in the barracks and it was highly probable that anybody else you _did_ know was dead.

That 60% mortality rate was _hardly_ a laughable figure.

The room itself was fairly humble: a bed and nightstand sat in one corner, parallel to the wall where a row of clerestory windows had been fitted. Whoever the previous occupant of the room was had been generous enough to fit a pair of fresh sheets onto the mattress. Against the same wall was a bookshelf that was empty for now, though you were certain you would quickly fill and beside it, there was the desk. 

Worn and scratched from consistent use, the wooden surface evokes some sort of sad nostalgia as a hand brushes over the top, and the more you think of it, perhaps Erwin had done this on purpose. _That sly bastard_ , you think with a smile. After all, this had been your mother’s desk.

Much life yourself, she had been a weapons engineer, designing and developing munitions for the three military divisions. Her reputation preceded her as someone who was incredibly intelligent and calculative, gaining a significant amount of attention for her design for the latest ODM gear that was now in standard use. Her success with that also promoted her to the rather esteemed position as a Senior Engineering Director and for that? You looked up to her.

She taught you how to sketch, how to work with numbers and heavy formulas, grounded you with the basic sciences behind her job, allowing you often to dissect mechanical components and work with the tools you were given. The rifle now strung across your back was once hers as well and in the occasional instance that she came home from work, she taught you how to shoot (much to your father’s chagrin).

The wooden desk which now rested under your fingertips once sat in her office back home. Shapeless, fuzzy memories from when you were younger remind you fondly that she had moved it here to the Survey Corps’ barracks, because she “ _worked best with this desk_ ” and it “ _kept her connection to home_ ” in the countless instances where she had to stay over several nights for work. You just didn’t expect for it to still be here after all this time.

And sure enough, your fingers graze over a particular area in the wood, the feel of her carving clear under your hands.

_Morga._

Her name. And under it, your father’s:

_Ernest._

Her death was so sudden, so unexpected. It struck a grievous blow to your family, to you and Erwin, and in particular your father. Once upon a time, in the quiet evenings under the cover of the night, he would tell you and Erwin his theories of the Walls, the King and the world with hushed enthusiasm. You and your brother knew of the risk of discussing concepts and ideas such as these, yet you would both always respond the same: in awe, because you were both young, hopeful and impressionable.

When your mother died, your father’s enthusiasm died with her too. He grew distant, even depressed, with nightmares running rampant in his mind and he forbade you and Erwin of ever mentioning his conjectures, even in the supposed safety of your own home. This sudden shift in attitude from your father had changed something in Erwin. In his heart, the theories you had heard around the flame of a single candle had become the truth, and with his youthful ambition, he enlisted in the Survey Corps to reveal the truth and give voice once more to your father’s words which had lost its own.

And somewhere amidst your own grief, you made the decision to continue on with your studies. Your efforts had led you to the University of Stohess from which you graduated early with a degree in engineering. An entire legacy sat on your shoulders, and with that, shortly after your graduation, you joined the military as an engineer.

Except, you resigned. You had been just over a year and a half into your position when you and Erwin had received news of your father’s declining health. Though the both of you were fully employed, funding for the military - particularly the Survey Corps - was scarce, and even with your combined efforts, you simply couldn’t afford the carers to look after your father anymore. And so, after talking with Erwin and weighing your options, you made the decision and took it upon yourself personally to look after him.

He had somewhat recovered under your care, but there had been multiple periods of regression where he found himself once again drowning in his grief and harm, eyes distant and fogged from whatever nightmares were projected behind in his mind. The fall of Shiganshina and Wall Maria had dealt a particularly heavy blow to him, especially with the presumed death of Dr Jaegar who often visited your home to conduct his own check-ups on your father himself. His experience and patience in his work allowed for your father something akin to a friendship - something which he hadn’t had in a while and in return, made the loss even more devastating. And it hurt, to see your father who had one time been so bright and gladdening, now deteriorate under the mental burden that left him metaphorically shackled to a bed. It wasn’t the way any of you wanted your lives to pan out.

The first of the unshed tears track down your face unintentionally, and with a muttered curse do you retract your hand from the desk. Now this just won’t do. Any sign of your momentary weakness is swiftly eradicated as you swipe your sleeve across your face harsher than you initially intended to. Your eyes harden with an unreadable impression and without any additional thought, you’ve grabbed your rifle and left the room.

**-+-**

Up, back, forwards, down.

_“Hold the guard - not the barrel - unless you want to burn yourself.”_

_Her hands, dextrous in motion, cradle your own, guiding it to the correct position on the rifle._

The clean movement of the bolt ejects a used cartridge from the breach, sending it clattering to the ground.

A new round shifts simultaneously into the barrel, ready to be fired. It’s all second nature.

_“You can wrap the sling around your hand; it gives you a better grip."_

_The material gives a comfortable pull around your palm. She was right - of course she was._

_The butt of the rifle rests tightly wedged under your armpit._

A finger hovers over the trigger. Glancing into the scope, you aim for one of the rusted cans, perched on one of the many tree stumps.

_Breathe._

The rifle hardly jolts and all you release is a quiet, steady breath as your finger slams down.

The bullet streaks through the air, piercing through the metal tin.

_You startle back, by both the sound and the recoil, the pump of your blood_

_and adrenaline drowning out the sharp ache in your shoulder._

_Laughing, she helps you up and your face instantly splits_

_into a grin at the sight in front of you._

_A direct hit._

Repeat. The birds that had previously nested in the woodland lining the edge of the barracks were long gone by now, taking skittish flight at the first ring of a gunshot. You didn’t have to worry about any curious, wandering recruits either - you were deep enough into the forest and the shooting range here probably hadn’t faced a single soldier in a long while. Guns were practically useless against titans, and so the requirement for training with them had significantly decreased for those who enlisted in the Survey Corps.

 _Except_ , you muse, pulling the bolt back and aiming once more, _What Erwin presented you with could revolutionise the face of titan warfare for the Scouts altogether._

Forestry rustles subtly behind you, pricking your senses and immediately you hasten to your feet, pointing the barrel in the direction you had heard it from.

“At ease.”

 _A voice_. It’s unfamiliar, but cool, flat, steady. Your eyes flick from your scope to the side to see who it is, when your feet fall under you and all of a sudden, you’re on the ground.

Your gun is shoved against your throat by a pair of hands and a weight pins your waist beneath you. The air is snatched completely from your lungs, head spinning as you’re trying to push the weapon away.

 _Humanities Strongest_ stares down at you; a man who had been all but hushed whispers and glances when you were still fresh in the wing. He’s looking at you with guarded eyes behind onyx locks, eyes which, now that you were seeing him at a closer proximity, were a striking shade of grey like the remnants of ashes after a destructive blaze. You shudder. His knees press into your sides as he straddles on top, effectively leaving you trapped.

“ _Captain_ ,” you hiss sarcastically, simultaneously trying not to touch the barrel which was more than likely hot still.

Cloaked in the same green material the others Scouts wore, his cool hands wrap on top of yours, igniting your skin as he easily overpowers you in strength. Pushing down the gun a little harder, he’s on the edge of making it painful.

"So you're the Smith," he states almost mockingly, lips twisting into a wry sneer, "What a pain."

_What the fuck?_

A muted anger simmers inside. There’s no dramatic gasps or even an impression of excitement from you: just a chilling indifference that mirrors his own. Of course, you knew _of_ him. He was the fucking face of the Survey Corps. His title served as clever propaganda to inspire pliant kids into offering themselves to the military. You knew of his ever-increasing stats, his _stupidly_ inhuman skill, but he had once tried to kill Erwin, and for reasons you deemed to be justified, you were wary.

You weren’t like the Military Police, who carelessly served their trust and respect to anyone who had even a fraction of authority. You gave it to those who deserved it, not demanded it.

The Captain merely glowers back, appearing to be perfectly fine it seems, as if knocking you to the ground was of hardly any exertion. You can't retort back snidely if you wanted to, air barely reaching your lungs and you swear your arms are going to give in at any moment now.

Noticing this, the Captain releases a soft “ _hah_ ”, almost as if he’s amused at your defiance before releasing his grip on your rifle altogether. As he swings off of your body, you take a much-needed breath, a hand rubbing the delicate skin on your neck. Your heart pounds, the echoes of his hands on yours leaving a warmth needling under your skin.

_ What just happened? _

“Erwin’s back,” is all he adds dryly, reaching for the bridle of his horse as he mounts it, “He wants you in his office - it’s about the expedition.”

His eyes flick over you a final time before he turns. He’s closed himself off - there’s no point trying to decipher him anymore.

And just like that, he leaves. Disappearing behind the foliage, his horse carries him towards the general direction of the base, leaving you to sit there speechless.

 _Asshole_.

You never took him as one to be a conversationalist, though you didn’t expect him to be _this_ unceremonious. Whatever. You shove the Captain’s peculiar belligerence to the back of your mind - or, at least you _try_ to - along with any lingering unease you felt. Something about him irked you; you just didn't know what. 

The cans you were shooting are quickly discarded, and in a matter of minutes, you find yourself echoing the Captain’s route back on your own steed.

He’s already at the stables by the time you arrive. Hardly sparing you a second glance, he leans against one of the wooden pillars with crossed arms, waiting as you tie up your own horse. You press a firm hand on his muzzle as a silent thanks, before silently following one of the Corp’s most skilled soldiers through the barracks - though, at a distance.

He seems completely unbothered by the events that had _just_ transgressed, walking through the corridors silently and making no attempt at another conversation. Your hands twitch at your side, your muscles strained and you already know he's not getting a salute or an apology from you anytime soon, even if you did point your gun at him first. Regardless of what just happened though, you'll force yourself to co-operate with him if need be. You were here to do your job, not to spark conflict between yourself and a hard-tongued, self-entitled military captain.

But you are somewhat grateful that he’s observant enough to detect your lack of direction in this place; enough so that he guides you through the base to Erwin's office. He’s eyeing your rifle across your back and for a second, you think he’s going to address your impassive hostility towards him earlier, but he says no such thing.

“I wasn’t aware that you were a sharpshooter.”

You blink, trying to gauge his intent.

“I’m an engineer. It’s expected that I at least know how to use the weapons I design.”

“You were trained?”

“Self-taught for the most part.”

“So you can protect yourself?” He asks, something shifting in his tone that you can’t quite place. It wasn’t exactly an interrogation, but you could hardly consider this as small talk.

“To a certain degree, yes?”

“At least that makes this shit easier,” he mutters and you barely catch the words. You draw up a brow.

“What?”

“Nothing,” retorting quickly, he stops in front of two large doors. He sharply knocks, pauses, before cracking it open.

“Get in runt.”

The Commander’s office is as imposing as he is; bookshelves line the edges, crammed with various publications and you’re suddenly reminded at just how studious Erwin was as much as you were. There’s a rather homely air about the place, specifically the subtle smell of the cedar cologne he always chose to use and it hangs around your heads in an easing haze. His desk sits further back in the room, where various parchment and documents scatter across the top and behind it, stands the Commander himself, jaw tense as he surveys the view outside the window behind him. His eyes flash in your direction and he gives a nod to acknowledge your presence.

“Levi. (Y/N). Anything to report?”

 _Yeah,_ you riposte silently, _your captain here's a bit of a jackass._

You pass two of the couches in the room to move towards his desk, noting how the Captain opts to stay in his position by the door. Shrouding away from the light, he keeps his silence.

“I’ve had a look at them,” you say, referring to the bullets Erwin had left with you a few nights ago. Handing him a piece of paper, his eyes skim over your writing and hand-sketched diagrams.

“And?”

“Surprisingly, at the base of it all, it’s made of the standard metals that your ordinary bullets are made of. The core’s made of copper,” though your voice suggests there’s more to it.

“But?”

Fishing into the one of your pockets, you procure a small vial filled with fine, translucent fragments. The blond’s eyes shine with tamed interest and you swear the silver stare from behind burns a little bit deeper into your back. This time though, you manage to contain another shiver. You’re about to explain your findings when the doors at the rear burst open and you give a flinch.

“You’re late,” Levi states dully, addressing the arrival of two new - but not unfamiliar - individuals.

Hange sweeps into the room, dismissing the shorter man’s comment with a flick of their hand and a rather smug, “ _We’re on time actually._ ” Their attention rests solely on you as they wrap an arm around your shoulders and give you a grin.

“So Erwin’s finally dragged you back in, huh?” It’s hard not to smile back, “I look forward to working with you again, (Y/N).”

“Likewise,” you reply, their arm sliding off as they move to stand beside you. Hange Zoë was someone who you had worked with previously on various occasions. Their unofficial title as the Survey Corps’ scientist had put them into connection with the military’s engineers. All too easily do you acclimatise back once more to their fairly breezy character. They were one out of two of the veteran soldiers who you knew on a personal level, and sure enough--

Something brushes against the shell of your ear and you’re hardly surprised to see Humanities _Second_ \- Mike Zacharias - leaning over to sniff at your neck; a weird (and arguably _questionable_ ) habit of his, but the veterans of the Survey Corps were always unusual in one way or another. You had met him a few years ago when Erwin was in Trost and took his chance to visit your father at home. Mike had accompanied him and the two of you ultimately introduced yourself over two cups of tea over the kitchen table. In some aspects, he reminded you of your brother with his impossibly tall height and serious guise that would crack every so often with a fond smile.

Seemingly satisfied, he retracts back, placing a hand on your head.

“Smith."

“Zacharias,” you shoot back at him, smirking.

He gives you a, “ _Welcome back_ ,” moving to stand beside his Commander who he served as his right-hand man. With the vial still in your hand and a silence settling over the office, you look over to Erwin and continue your explanation from before.

“The bullet’s jacket’s made of a lead alloy, which is to be expected, but the element’s that’s bonded with the lead is one that I can’t identify. It’s composition and pattern suggests that it’s a completely unknown substance, but I can deduce that’s what give the bullets their penetrative power. The substance in question is what’s inside _this_ -“ you say, handing him the vial which he holds up to inspect, “-And I’ve also requested from the production factories a batch of bullets made of ultrahard steel - the same kind your blades are made of. They should be ready in about a week.”

“What for?” He asks, looking from the phial to you.

“An alternative - that is, if they actually turn out okay, incase I can’t work out what the substance actually is and where to source it. Until I do that, I won’t be able to replicate them in time for the expedition,” you grimace, “ Sorry.”

A pensive look crosses over his face, regarding the vial once more before he goes, “No, you’ve done more than I expected. You even got a sample.”

“Looks like that coderoin shit that’s been circulating around recently,” that dry voice comments from the back and you implicitly raise a brow. Apparently the Captain’s offhand attitude and profanity extended to everyone in his proximity, regardless of who they were. Chain of command be damned.

“You’ve gotten further with them than even I could,” Hange speaks up, curious as they pick up the sample and observe it for themself, “Weapons aren’t my speciality, but how _did_ you manage to separate it?”

“I took apart the core and casing from a used bullet Erwin gave me and placed the casing in a solution of acetic acid and hydrogen peroxide to dissolve the lead. I then filtered the acid out to leave me with the remaining substance. I couldn’t powder it with force alone, so I heated it until it broke down and melted. From there, once it cooled again, I was able to scrape it out and reduce it into a finer sample. That’s what’s in your hands right now.”

It proved more straightforward than you had anticipated. Erwin’s sudden arrival that night had sparked a rare excitement you just couldn’t smother with sleep, not when it had been a while since you were assigned something like this and you had been itching to do something with the years of dormant experience and knowledge with you. Most of the equipment you needed could be easily found in the basement of your home, which had once been your mother’s office, but was now used to store her things. A few of your old connections from before also allowed you easy access to the chemicals you needed. Falling all-too effortlessly into old habits, you worked well into day-break and your work had resulted in the glassy dust sealed neatly in the phial.

“Sounds complicated,” Mike sniffs, though there was some interest laced with his words, “But bringing you back in’s proved it’s worth.”

“I’m just doing what I was asked,” you reply politely, before hastily adding, “Oh, and don’t sniff that,” when he unscrews the cap and peers in.

“Ever so modest as always (Y/N),” Hange remarks, patting your shoulder as they pass, “Anyways, Erwin. The expedition. It’s in a month.”

Something in the air changes and although Hange’s words weren’t unkind, there was something about it that felt rather _accusatory_. Glancing over to Mike for some sort of clarity, he merely shrugs. Erwin, as always, is completely expressionless.

“So what’s the plan you shitty eyebrows?” Levi asks, finally peeling away from his position against the wall, “Finally going to keep us out of the dark after so long?”

 _Well shit_. Seems even the most trusted veterans in the ranks were just as uninformed as you were. _Though_ , you argue, there had to be some sort of reasoning behind your brother’s actions and so, when the four pair of eyes in the room stare expectantly at him long enough for it to border just a _little_ uncomfortable, Erwin sighs, plants his hands firmly against the desk and his eyes darken with a newfound resolve.

“We’ve got a traitor to catch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this chapter was rather exposition heavy - i just needed to get the main backstories out the way and flesh out the character relationships, but levi's finally here! :)
> 
> i always wished we got a little more backstory on Erwin, especially his mother who wasn't even mentioned at all, so creating these different backstories for them was something i enjoyed a lot
> 
> (just as a side note, i’ve never used a gun, let alone even held one, so i had to do a fair bit of research on bolt action rifles and on bullets to write them correctly. if there’s any mistakes i’ve made please don’t hesitate to correct me. also ik the ‘science’ behind getting the sample is definitely very inaccurate but for the sake of the story, pretend it’s some smart scientific bs ;))


	3. number eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> three weeks prior the 57th expedition  
> ; blue eyes, blonde hair. sounds familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reading chapter 138 yesterday then watching the new episode today probably wasn't the smartest decision I've made in terms of my emotional stability, but enjoy this chapter! <3

Cables whir overhead and it’s with poorly-contained revere that you watch as the newly recruited trainees of the 104th soared above. Although the majorities’ movements are stiffer compared to the members of the Special Operations Squad drifting alongside them, it adds a whole new weight to the ODM gear that hangs at your own sides.

“Arlert! Sloppy manoeuvre!”

The Captain’s with you on the ground (you're keeping your distance as usual), the both of you observing the recruits training in the forest surrounding the barracks. With a rigid jaw, his arms cross tightly against his torso and whilst _his_ knife-like glare is scanning the soldiers for any faults, _your_ eyes are looking for something else.

 _A traitor_.

Erwin’s words ring low in your ears at the recollection of the meeting in his office a few days back. He had had his suspicions, ever since his discovery of the bullets in Trost, and his notions were only reinforced when the two titans they had captured (christened the names Sawney and Bean respectively by Hange) were intentionally killed just days ago. Any previous doubt felt from the three veterans instantly dissipates as your brother’s insight in his mind surfaces on his lips as a plan.

Though you may not have the bullets ready in time, you’ll do your part and work with Hange to prepare the traps to capture the traitor - one that Erwin is _certain_ is a shifter just like Eren. Levi and his squad are to supervise and protect the latter, whilst Mike serves as the Scouts’ Watchdog just as he usually does, only this time, with an increased awareness.

Although your brother was unable to provide any leads on an exact identity, your eyes skim the tree tops for something, _anything_ that would give them away. Slipping into the Corps’ militia under the disguise of a mere recruit would be an _irritatingly_ convenient cover for them.

With Erwin’s permission, you had sifted through the files of the 104th draftees, startled at how _eight_ of the soldiers from the Top Ten were willingly joining the regiment infamous for having the highest death rate. Erwin had expressed his own surprise, but was grateful he now had multiple promising cadets within his ranks, such as a certain _Ackerman_ and _Braun_. And with that, you began putting the names to faces.

A flash of red streaks boldly across the greenery, blades dipping in and out of foam napes with ease, elegance and agility. _Mikasa Ackerman_ , you recall instantly.

_Number one in her class._

_Number Two_ trails closely behind her, followed by _Number Three:_ Reiner Braun and Bertolt Hoover. Their skill was evident in the clean, fluid motion they moved with and with regards to the first two out of the three, it certainly wasn’t lip-service Erwin had given you about them, but simply the truth. Your stare gravitates towards a particular cadet, however, and while he hadn’t managed a position within the Top Ten, his name is remembered just as quick.

He’s lagging behind the main formation of his teammates with strained, lurching manoeuvres - something the Captain catches onto at once. Your eyes thin ever so slightly, scrutinising how the extended wire stretches far too late after each pull of the trigger and you realise: something’s wrong.

The Captain snarls out another rebuking lecture, and seemingly that’s all the poor cadet needs to lose his diminishing focus before he’s suddenly flung completely off course on a sharp right. Narrowly missing one of his comrades, he’s tearing straight for the ground, scarcely avoiding a trip to the medical wing as he tucks his body into a hasty, but protective, roll. Two of the Special Ops Squad are already hanging above him. One’s voicing their concerns (a woman with short, amber hair) and the other’s spitting out both equally unhelpful and unnecessary remarks (a soldier with narrowed eyes and an undercut that looks _awfully_ like the Captain’s).

“Oi, Jean! What the hell was that for?” Another soldier swings into view - the Top Ten’s _Number Five_ , the titan shifter himself: Eren Jaegar.

“ _Hah?_ Are you stupid? I was in my own course!” _Number Six_ \- Jean Kirstein - twists around instantly to snap back at the boy.

“Tch, the brat’s gonna get himself killed if he keeps this up.”

Hardly impressed, the Captain promptly moves to approach the barely-recovering recruit on the floor. You find your own feet quickly, remembering your observation and how _unnatural_ the entire motion of the near-accident was.

“Captain - wait. Pull him aside.”

Steeled eyes tear challengingly to yours. You hardly waver. You won't let this prick catch you off your guard again.

“And _why_ would I do that?”

You barely conceal the roll of your eyes.  
  
“It’s not his ability, it’s his gear.”

He looks at you for a moment, almost as if he’s considering something when he barks out:

“Arlert, front and centre!”

The recruit flinches at the sudden abrasiveness of the order, but quickly dismisses the hand Eren offers him. Slightly apprehensive, he gets up and progresses towards the both of you.

“Take off your gear,” you say once he’s in front of you, “It’s damaged. I’ll fix it for you.”

You’re almost amused by the confusion and relief that flashes visibly across the younger Scout’s face. He was definitely anticipating some form of discipline from the man beside you, who was no less unimpressed, but whose eyes pacify ever so slightly when he says to him, “Follow your orders.”

“Y-Yes sir!”

Giving you both a final look, he turns to stalk over to _Number Five_ and _Six_ \- their confrontation from earlier only growing ever more heated.

The young cadet hands you his gear, following you over to a stump where you sat. You take out a small tool, somewhat unassuming, until a blade flicks out the side and you’re picking at the rivets around the main shaft. It was practical - a multi-purpose pocket tool you kept with you at all times for instances such as this. Delicately taking apart the apparatus, you give a wry smirk when your hunch from earlier proved correct.

The left side of the ODM’s main housing was fine. It was the right that was the issue.

The spool the wire was wound around had come loose, which would explain the delay in the cable and the entire unevenness of his movements. Flipping your blade back into its main compartment, you opt for a smaller one to deal with the more tedious screws. _Arlert_ chooses to show great interest at his booted feat. You’re unaware of a separate pair of eyes watching as you work.

You tighten the spool back in place with ease, unraveling the length of wire so that you could wind it back around and ensure yourself it was in the correct place.

“Armin right?” You start, looking up causally, “I read the reports about the plan you came up with during the breach in Trost.”

Ranked _Number Eighteen_ in his class, his file had caught your attention pretty quickly.

“Huh?” He gives a blink before rubbing the back of his neck, “Oh, uh, yeah. It was all put together pretty hastily, I’m surprised it worked at all.”

You give him a smiled, _“Relax,”_ and on command, his whole body seems to deflate.

“I’m not here to criticise you on it. In fact, I want to know more.”

“You do?”

“I do.”  
  
Pausing briefly with the gear in your hands, you look up to speak to him.

“It said you used the spare rifles to blind the Titans. I thought guns were useless against them?”

“For the most part, they are,” he explains, a natural air of modest confidence suddenly about him, “Though there are a few weaknesses in their anatomy which can be monopolised on to buy a few seconds of time.”  
  
“One being their eyes?”  
  
He nods, “Another being their achilles. It’s a risk to target them with our blades, especially when you can get trampled over so easily. However, if you manage to take them out, they’ll fall over and they can’t walk until it’s fully healed.”

You give a hum, storing this information mentally for later reference.

“How close were you when you shot them?”  
  
“Pretty much face to face.”  
  
You rear back, eyes widened slightly.

“ _Seriously?_ ” And when the blond nods, you shake your head with a smirk.

“You’ve got guts.”

He smiles back, mumbling his thanks.

“The guns just didn’t have enough power for us to fire them any further away,” he clears up, “We just got lucky that the plan worked and that Eren arrived when he did.”

This was interesting. He seemed to be an honest and intelligent enough cadet and you felt no implication of him being a potential suspect as the traitor. He's a good kid, you decide. The final few inches of cable are wrapped back neatly inside.

 _Perhaps if the bullet had more power within the shot_ , you think, _It could probably be able to penetrate the skin, even from an increased distance._

It would be something you’d look into later, but for now, you twist the final screw in and pocket your tool.

“Here,“ you hand him back his gear, standing to your feet, “It should be good now. Try it.”  
  
Slipping it on, he pulls the right trigger, watching with repose as it hooks into the nearest tree smoothly. Retracting it back, he turns to you, sheepish.

“Thank you, uh…” his voice drifts off.  
  
“(Y/N),” you tell him simply, “Just (Y/N).”

No-one but the veterans needed to know of your relation to the Commander for now.

The remainder of the 104th’s training passes relatively smoothly. Armin rejoins his friends, including a certain _Five_ and _Six_ who were both _unusually quiet_ , but manage a shared sneer at most under the Captain’s watchful glare.

It’s mid-afternoon when the recruits are dismissed (Eren parting ways with his squad for his experiments) and you’re left to haul the crates of used ODM to the forest’s opening. Stealing a brief pause, your chest seethes as you try to catch your breath. _Shit_ , you seriously needed to work on your upper body.

“Oi, Smith,” your head snaps up; the Captain calls for you from the platform overhead, “Gear up.”  
  
His head disappears as he retreats back from the edge. You suppress a sigh.

You hadn’t realised just how involved you would be with the Scouts when Erwin had roped you back in. Apparently “ _proving yourself”_ in the upcoming expedition meant you had to actually _participate_ in it. You wouldn’t exactly be fighting directly against the large, humanoid beasts yourself - no - but you’d be assisting Hange with the traps that you had already had the designs drafted for. Riding there and back, you’d be with Mike. It would be your first time outside the walls, untrained, inexperienced and anxious.

And so, you find yourself with the ODM strapped at your waist, feeling much more heavier now that you were wearing it and doing more than simply taking it apart across a table in your office. A month was hardly enough time, but it would bring a peace to both yours and Erwin’s mind if you at least knew the basics.

But of course, out of all the people, it had to be _Humanities Strongest Jackass_ tending to your training. You had to admire Armin’s tenacity from earlier. This shit didn’t look easy.

You secure the upper straps of the gear back on with a slight grimace; you had shrugged them off earlier on for your own comfort. The pull on your body and the weight on your hips was something you’d have to get used to.

**-+-**

“Actually _aim_ , you idiot. If you go out because you slammed into a tree, Erwin’s going to be on my ass. And conserve your gas!”

Gritting your teeth, you had hardly caught the Captain’s remark over the drowning thump of your volatile heartbeat and erratic breath. The straps rasp against your skin, your fingers stiff and sore from the use of the triggers and you’re pushing your body to its absolute limits. Your joints already thrum with the onset of strenuous aches which throb _just_ that little more painful as you sharply shift your weight to avoid a tree. It was careless, and you barely manage to regain your footing once more. You’re tired, sweating and heaving, but for some odd reason, it was comforting.

Perhaps it had been the fact that you had been spending the past few years idly at home, but the thrilling surge of adrenaline and the sudden awareness of both your body and surroundings was the intoxicating rush of change that you felt you had needed. You had used the gear once before, and although it was years ago, the experience had been so surreal it was as if it had engrained itself into your every nerve and sinew. Today had merely rekindled that feeling. You had a relatively good sense of balance, passing the initial test with shaky relief as you slowly adapted to this weightless, suspending state you’d be in for a while.

You’re following the course the 104th had taken earlier and although you were hardly experienced to even attempt the slick twists and flips you had witnessed before, you felt as if you had a decent grasp on the Captain’s teachings of the basics.

 _“Trust your body, work with the momentum and focus,”_ he had told you sternly, leaning against the trunk of a tree as you sat on the hanging platforms earlier on. You had lost your stability during your first attempt, sending the world around you into a capsized blur, and it had taken almost a dozen more until you could keep yourself upright whilst moving. You considered yourself lucky for even having this break.

 _“Keep your eyes ahead of you. I trust you already know this, but I’ll bore you with it again incase I’m overestimating your competence-“_ shooting him a pointed look, he ignores it, “ _-But don’t damage the gear and don’t waste your gas. That shit is hardly cheap and we don’t have the funding. You break it, you fix it,”_ fair enough _, “You waste it, you’re paying for it. The insurance doesn’t cover for you._ ”

Slender hands had positioned your own on the triggers, skin set alight once more. His feet kicked your legs into the correct stance as he grumbled about the minor errors in your form. The startlingly close proximity had left you tense, something the Captain picked up on instantly with a snarky, " _Calm the fuck down, I'm not going to floor you again._ "

On several instances, you were near enough to catch the scent of fresh cotton and clean soap, along with the masculine air about his frame. Having being in his company for a short while now, you had begun to have grown accustomed to his fiery tongue. Still, that didn’t mean his comments put you off any less as he tailed you from behind.

“Sloppy manoeuvre, Smith!” He snaps, echoing himself with Armin from before. You had lost count of what number trial this was, but you had definitely been at it for at least two hours. _Asshole_. His flawless movements, your amateur mistakes, his abrasive remarks, your wearing patience. It pissed you off. You were hot and clammy, skin raw under the straps with definite blisters and bruises forming and your throat wrung dry from your lack of water. Another set of wires hum from behind and you’re half-aware of the small sniff that followed.

“Be gentle with her Captain,” you can hear the faint amusement in his voice, “This one hasn’t been off _her_ ass in years.”

You twist around recklessly. Your form wavers.

“Oh, _piss off Mike_ -“

He’s not there.

_He’s gone?_

No.

“Oi, in front of you-!”

You’re slamming into a solid chest with full force, a winded “ _oof_!” knocked out of you entirely as the motion sent the Hound tumbling down with you. He’s skilled enough to secure an arm around you whilst simultaneously aiming for one of the training platforms below. Your body connects with the rigid surface of wood, dull pain thrumming at the contact and you’re rolling - you can’t stop, your head’s spinning - rolling, rolling and you can feel yourself slipping off the edge when a large hand grabs yours and pulls you back up effortlessly.

It’s in an untangling of limbs do you even have a chance to _think_. Your breath comes out in long, uneven gasps and you shake you head as Mike offers you a hand up. You could hardly feel your legs now that you were finally grounded on something.

“Thanks,” you somehow manage to say over your heaving. The adrenaline finally simmers and all that’s left is the aching pain across your entire form as you shift to sit on the edge, feet dangling down. How Armin managed to recover so quickly, you’d never know. He had your respect.

“You good?” Mike asks, sitting beside you, “Sorry about that. I should’ve warned you.”

Grimacing, you shake your head.

“I’m okay. It’s my fault for not looking forwards anyways.”

“It was one of the first things I taught you, you runt.”

Your body shrinks as the Captain lands smoothly on the platform, striding over where he nudges the canister at your side with his foot, “I thought I told you to conserve your gas. Your canisters are almost empty.”

“Understood,” you mutter tiredly, hearing the irritation you felt at yourself seeping into your voice. He raises a thin eyebrow. _Shit -_ you didn't need _another_ lecture. Gaining back your breath, you check yourself, “Apologies, Captain. I won’t waste it again.”

“Make sure you don’t - that’s an order.”

Silver eyes look down at you as he speaks, and as always, you can’t get a read of them. 

“You’re a quick learner but you lose your focus way too quickly. Pull this shit again at the expedition and you’re done for. Where we’re going, there’s trees taller than _this_ bastard here.”

His glare cuts to Mike who releases an amused exhale, and you yourself can’t help the weary smile that starts to form. It wasn’t even supposed to be funny, especially with the Captain’s usual deadpan demeanour, yet the side of your lips give a twitch anyways. The tip of a boot kicks into your back, though it’s more of a careful nudge, almost as if the Captain knew of the varying degrees of pain you were in.

“Tch. You’re insufferable.”

“Captain!”

Five figures drift over to the platform, landing to salute the two superiors present - the Special Ops Squad. Their Captain puts them at ease with a flick of his hand before making his way to Eren; most likely to ask about how his first round of experiments went. Mike stands to talk to the two other remaining male soldiers.

“So _you’re_ the prat the Captain’s training.”

You recognise him instantly - the soldier with the undercut _and_ a cravat now that you notice it - as he makes an instant beeline towards you.

“Fix your posture cadet!” He scorns, giving you hardly any time to respond when he jabs his foot into your back, far more harsher and forceful than when the Captain had done it, “It’s not everyday the Captain gives his time to brats _like y-_ “

An elbow rams into his sides, sending him stumbling out of view. It’s the kind-eyed female soldier from before who had been with Armin. Except, rather than concern being etched on her features, her face twists into a hard-set scowl.

“Seriously?”

“ _Ouch_ , Petra,” the soldier retaliates, rubbing his side, “Is that how you treat your superior? You know, you’ve still yet to prove yourself worthy of being my wi-“

She elbows him again before he can say anything more, her thrust forceful enough to send him toppling backwards towards Mike who wordlessly catches his cloak before he can fall. You weren’t intimidated at all by his over-the-top aggression, and with his evidently forced bravado being a poor imitation of the Captain, it’s almost pitiful.

Almost.

“Sorry about him. He can get kind of... _intense_ ," the auburn-haired soldier sits beside you with a sigh, " I’m Petra by the way. I think I saw you earlier with the Captain during training. You’ve met Oluo but that’s Eld and Gunther.”

Facing the two she had just named, they give you both courteous nods before turning to Mike again. You don’t recognise them from your time before, but the quiet, serious manner they conducted themselves with already alluded to you of the skill and talent they were capable of. They weren’t quite on the same level as Mike or Erwin’s, but they were veterans nonetheless.

“It’s fine,” you reassure her, “I’m (Y/N).”

“Are you new to the Scouts? Rumours are that the Commander wanted you in himself.”

You pause, considering your answer before choosing your words carefully, but honestly.

“I worked for the military a while back, but I returned to help out with the expedition, that’s all.”

Even the renowned Special Ops Squad would be left out of the loop with the mission’s true objective. Erwin was being _incredibly_ careful with this, not that you could blame him. The Survey Corps were in blinded territory with their custody over Eren and therefore couldn’t risk jeopardising his, or anyone else’s, safety. Petra ruminates briefly over your words, making the much-appreciated decision to leave it at that.

“If the Commander can trust you so much, then we can extend our trust with you,” her eyes are gentle, her voice warm. It’s genuine.

“We’re counting on you, (Y/N).”

She places a hand on your shoulder, sharing a smile before she twists around and stands up.

“Captain,” she says. All surrounding conversation ceases instantly, “Squad Leader Hange wants you back with us for the rest of the experiments.”

“Again?” He sneers, glancing at Eren before rolling his eyes, “They’ll kill the damn kid at this rate.”

"Always the inconsiderate one, that Hange," Oluo bites, dodging another jab from Petra. Eld and Gunther merely nudge the two to the edge to take their leave.

As the rest of his squad departs, the Captain turns to Mike yet his eyes rest solely on you.

“Zacharias. Make sure she doesn’t die trying to get down.”

The Hound nods. The Captain leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was definitely one of the longest chapters i've written & i have to say I'm pretty happy with how this is going. sorry if the pacing seems rather slow and there's not a lot of levi yet, but i just need to flesh out the main plot points and it should start picking up properly in around two to three chapters. 
> 
> as always, any thoughts, feedback and kudos are much appreciated! :)


	4. lock and key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a few days prior the 57th expedition  
> ; the expedition nears. old memories return.

_She’s stifling her laugh - you can tell, a scowl forming on your face as she guides you back upright._

_“Sorry, sorry,” she says, dangling closely beside you with her own gear, “Let’s try that again, shall we?”_

Hooks dig into the side of the wall, the wire reeling you in with a steady exhale. You’ve gotten used to the pull, used to the ache that wraps your body as your momentum alone draws you up the side of Wall Rose. At least the Captain won’t have to reprimand you again for wasting your gas, but then again, from your movement itself you know you’re improving. Enough so that neither he nor Mike had to accompany you at all times for the past week or so anymore.

_Pull, release, aim._

_“I don’t know why you’re bringing me here anyways,” you grunt between each tug of the gear._

_You’re slower than her, that’s to be expected._ _This was your first time using the ODM_

 _and you were barely staying up._ _The feeling was so unlike anything you had experienced before,_

_“I’m not a soldier. Is this even legal?”_

Landing on top of the wall, you stumble a little under the motion. You’d have to work on that.

_“It’s not everyday that citizens like you get to use the gear,” she shrugs nonchalantly, grinning as you fling upside-down again,_

_“I found a spare and thought why not? Now stop sulking."_

_Unlatching her hooks, she pulls you close to her--_

_“I’ll help you up, here.”_

_You snort._

_“Should’ve just done that in the first place."_

The land is just as big and as open as you could ever remember. The trees still span over the hills in lush nests of forestry, reaching for the stretches of clouds that drift aimlessly above. All too easily do theypass the threshold between the safety of the walls and the uncharted land. Even though now you had a few more years with you, that feeling of smallness from before never seemed to fade.

_She smiles at your quiet reverence, the way your eyes widen to burn the memory of this view into your brain._

_A gust of wind skims swiftly past the both of you, waking goosebumps across your bare arms and sending a shiver up your spine._

The distant range of mountains seem to frame the landscape, the first of the sun sinking into the hearth of the horizon, with which a rich golden glow casts itself upon yourself and the city behind you. Standing at the edge, you’re aware of a gentle breeze brushing by, holding hardly enough strength to move you from your fixed stance upon the wall.

_Rolling her eyes in a loving manner, she shrugs off her jacket which you let her place around your shoulders._

_I_ _n the warmth of her coat and her company, you watch the sun set and burn the sky in its wake._

_It was beautiful._

The same jacket - a plain brown, save for three pinned emblems - rests on your back and just like with the desk, it carries a slew of bittersweet emotions that stir once more. Not even two weeks after your mother had bought you here so long ago, did she meet her demise. Devoured by the titans at the base of the wall after she fell until all the Garrison could salvage was her coat. The entire incident had been deemed an accident.

Even though the fabric was now clean and trimmed, at some point all those years ago, it had been split and frayed, dyed in red as it was handed over to your shaking hands. Her scent and her warmth were long gone by now.

The evening light catches in the remains of the lost land of Wall Maria, filtering through the ruin and decay haunting the villages below and bringing forth the sinking reminder of humanity’s helplessness. Two titans stare up at you from beneath your boots. Ribs protrude out of their veined skin with each steaming exhale of breath, chests rising and falling eagerly now that their glassy, unblinking eyes honed in on you. Thickset fingers grope up the wall, their gum-bare smiles widening as you wordlessly sling your rifle off your back.

Sliding a single round into it, you push the bolt forward and down, hearing the round slip into the chamber. Propping yourself up on one knee, you control your breathing as you took your aim through the scope.

You know it’s useless. It’s a normal bullet and therefore won’t even penetrate the flesh, but you _hate_ the way their eyes leer at you, forming the shape of crescents as their mouths split so widely. Your rifle points directly at the taller one out of the pair, its pupil lining up with your scope and you pause. Your breath catches in your throat and for some reason, your finger won’t do anything but simply hang over the trigger.

_Is this what she saw before she died?_

The thought is random, startlingly intrusive and yet the imagery swarms your brain like locusts. Pairs of vacant, bottomless eyes that paralyse you with unease; hands that could suffocate you entirely; wide, gaping jaws lined with teeth that are eerily clean, but at some point must’ve been _gushing_ with red. She must’ve seen so much red when she died. On her hands, on her torso, on her jacket - _her jacket._ It wraps around your shoulders and all of a sudden it feels far too hot, far too tight and it’s like the fabric’s constricting around you, choking all the air out of you _until you’re de-_

You hadn’t even realised you pulled the trigger.

The sound of the shot snatches you from the confinements of your mind and you look down hesitantly. You missed. The bullet didn’t hit the eye; instead, the tip barely scratches the surface of flesh between the titan’s eyes. Steam hisses as a new layer of skin heals swiftly over it. Blinking slowly, the titan’s hardly phased. You sneer.

“Shit.”

“What the hell was that for? You know that wouldn’t work.”

You body jolts at the sudden breach of your seclusion, glancing up to see the Captain land on the wall. Even the cold in his eyes is unable to tame the absolute look of _ire_ pooling behind them.

_Anger._

_Red._

_Blood._

**_Titans._ **

The imagery flashes between your eyes once more in lurid fragments. Bile bursts in your throat. Your eyes tear away from the base of the wall.

“I know,” you say, lacking the drive to retaliate back. Your head feels light, foreign. Securing your rifle over your back once more, you rise to your feet, “It’s just another pathetic attempt at vengeance.”

You had murmured the latter half, only to regret instantly as the Captain narrowed his eyes. He had heard you. Apparently _nothing_ escaped his scrutiny and you hated it.

It was as if he could see through you as if you were completely overt, yet you could hardly crack the enigma that was the Captain himself. And perhaps that was what made him so _unnerving_ at times, because your job was to understand things: their nature, their components, what made them click, what made them break and the Captain was the anomaly within it all. You couldn’t understand him at all. It left you feeling exposed, careful, guarded.

“How were the experiments?” You ask, realising the stillness that had hung over the two of you. Whatever signs of vulnerability reflected in your eyes is abruptly gone, replaced by a frigid look that resembles Erwin’s so much, your relation to him is clear in this present moment.

“A failure,” the Captain responds with an ill-contained sigh, “He couldn’t transform until he had to pick up a _fucking spoon_.”  
  
Pinching the bridge of his nose, his lips thin with apparent irritation as he turns and moves to leave. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he adds:

“Four-Eyes wants you.”

You stare blankly at him, to which he sighs once more before elaborating.

“Hange.”

 _Ah_. His nicknames for the other veterans were rather facetious, but you make no further comment. Following the Captain down the side of the wall, you leave behind the two titans and the images of red that you’ve yet to forget.

**-+-**

Hange’s office is as impressive as it is… _overwhelming_. You would’ve tripped over something on the small flight of stairs as you entered had it not been for their Executive Officer - Moblit - catching your arm and helping you down.

“It reeks like _shit_ in here,” the Captain snarls, wrinkling his nose. He’s chosen to hover in the threshold of the door, arms crossed and glare disapproving as he surveys the mess inside. The light from the open door reveals the floor - or what of the floor that can _actually be seen_ \- smothered in pools of papers and the occasional book or tool. There’s a main workbench in the centre, a dim light hanging above which barely illuminates the walls. Notes and diagrams of what you can assume to be titan anatomy are tacked on against it. A separate desk is pushed against the window at the back, various equipment sprawled across its surface.

As much as the Captain may disapprove, there’s something about Hange’s office that fills you with a warmth that grounds you. The messiness, the chaos - it reminds you all too well of days spent in your mother’s office, soaking up her years of knowledge like a sponge. Moblit guides you through, picking up a spare sheet or two as an attempt to tame the mess, as he announces your arrival to Hange who’s in the adjacent room. The Captain voices his distaste once more.

“Oi, Hange. When did you last have a shower? Even I can smell you from a mile off.”

“Uh, a week ago?” Their voice replies instantly, slightly muffled and oddly nonchalant, “Maybe a week. Can’t remember.”

Emerging from the room, Hange’s face splits into an immediate grin at the sight of you.

“Ah, (Y/N), you’re here! I thought you’d want to see this.”

An arm quickly finds itself resting on your shoulder once more, guiding you around the workbench. A padlocked box rests between their forearm and hip.

“This better not take long,” that same voice drawls, “We don’t need you creating another insomniac. Berner over there looks like he’s already going to shit himself.”

As he nods to the latter, you follow his stare to the mousy-haired man behind you. The fatigue is clear across his face, even with his awkward smile that you return sympathetically. Hange’s hardly paying attention.

“Yeah, yeah take your bathroom humour somewhere else,” they say airily, hardly giving the smaller man a glance. Unlocking the box, they fish out a rack of test tubes. Rolling his eyes at Hange’s lack of interest, he finally turns on his heel and leaves.

“Always full of complaints, that one,” Hange huffs, albeit smugly. They hold up one of the tubes, “Anyways, now that he’s gone, _here_.”

The glass is thrusted into your hand and as you perch yourself on the windowsill, you hold it up to the light. Hange sits opposite you, on top of the workbench.

“What is this?” You ask, but the rich, red fluid sealed inside is _awfully_ familiar. You hadn't forgotten the images from earlier.  
  
“Blood samples,” Hange replies eagerly, “I take it that you’re aware of the two titans we previously captured?”

You nod, the names _Sawney_ and _Bean_ emerging to the forefront of your mind.

“Well, before they died, we managed to obtain _these_ -“ they hold up the rack containing the remaining batch of red-filled tubes, “-but it wasn’t easy. Titan blood can evaporate within a couple of minutes and it took us multiple attempts to even obtain _one_.”  
  
Giving a sigh, they fold over their seated position, their eyes shining over behind their glasses with a certain sadness of mien.

“I can’t even begin to explain the anguish I felt,” they say, voice strangely low and bitter, “I caused them so much pain. They both had such cute smiles and hearing them cry out as _these_ were extracted was _just too-_ ”

“Section Commander,” Moblit interjects tiredly, “You’re digressing.”

“Am I?” Whatever stupor Hange was in disappears instantly. You both blink, “Oh, my bad!”

Another test tube is passed over to you, except instead of blood inside, sits a thin, cloudy solution. The interest on your face prompts Hange to explain.

“ _That_ is a solution I’ve developed myself. You see, we’ve been having issues with the gear. They’ve been rusting out quicker than we can replace them, so Erwin’s had me working on a way to save as much of the ODM as we can. We realised that titan blood is slightly acidic, and even when it evaporates, it still leaves an invisible mark on them.”  
  
“That’s what causes the gear to rust, right?”  
  
“Exactly. Unless we thoroughly clean them, the most they can last is a week. That solution in your hand shouldn’t only just reveal the mark the blood has left when poured over it, but we’re hoping it can begin to break it down on a molecular level to make it easier to clean off. That way we can prevent any rust from developing any further before it’s too late. If it works, then hopefully our latest supply of ODM that’s arriving in, uh…”

“Two days.” Moblit reminds them automatically.

“In two days, can last us a little longer.”

Mulling over their words, you frown a little.

“You haven’t tested it yet?”

“Nope,” and they slide off from where they’re seated to reach under the workbench, “And seeing as the ODM is one of your expertise, I thought you’d like to try it out yourself. Take the solution and _this_ -“  
  
Hauling a used set of ODM on the table, they beam at you.

“-And tell me how it goes. Hypothetically, you won’t have to use all of it, but I have some extra if you need it. I’ll also give you one of the spare keys to the blood samples in this box, just in case.”

Hange hands you the mentioned items, with you sliding the key and solution into your back pocket.

And so, after politely declining help from Moblit (he appeared to be on the verge of collapsing), you find yourself lugging the gear through the barracks and to your office. Catching the handle of the door with your elbow, you’re taken by complete surprise at the sight of someone else already inside.

_Number Three._

“Oh- shit,” stumbling slightly, you look up at the familiar cadet, “Bertolt, right? Can I help you?”

Retracting his hand hastily from your desk, he fumbles over his words before finding it in him to speak.

“I- uh. Sorry this is so late - I was just wondering if you had any spare wires. Mine snapped during training today.”

You’re not surprised. Ever since you had helped Armin with his gear, many of the recruits - particularly those from the 104th - began coming to you with their own issues with their ODM, whether that be for repairs or equipment for maintenance. You smugly wonder if they had to answer to the Captain with their gear-related problems before your arrival.

“Oh, yeah. I should have some spare in here. Give me a second.”

Squeezing past him, you dump the gear on the floor and haul a box from under your desk. Rummaging inside, you’re briefly aware of him shifting slightly behind you. Who knew the 104th’s Number Three would be so skittish? You briefly remember Shadis’ comment in his report regarding his ‘ _lack of aggressiveness_ ’.

Finding a loop of cable, you hand it to the tall brunet, who gives you his bashful thanks.

Once he leaves, you settle yourself on the floor cross-legged, rolling your sleeves and tying your hair. A candle lamp burns at your desk. The ODM lays before you.

You have your work to do.

Removing the stopper, you pour some of the solution from the tube onto a cloth and wipe it across one of the gear’s surface _._ The remnants of evaporated blood suddenly fade into view, the marks appearing clearly as a bleach-like white. _Hange was right._ You smile. As eccentric as they may come across to be, their mind was something you would never doubt.

You rub the cloth around the rest of the gear, wiping in between the fans and inner mechanics, sighing when you realise blood had gotten on the wires too. You couldn’t just clean them. You’d have to replace them entirely, same with any of the screws. It would be a lengthy process, but you knew of the consequences of overlooking the proper ODM care - too many soldiers had fallen casualty to their neglect; some with their limbs, others with their lives. This was the most you could do to increase their chances of survival.

It isn’t until a little while later that the door of your office swings open, the dim light from the lamp-lit corridors pouring onto the stone floor where you sat.

“Whoever it is, give me a minute. I’m just about to-“

“Don’t tell me Four-Eyes succeeded in making you an insomniac,” you freeze, “It’s two fucking AM.”

Your stare flicks up.

" _Captain._ ”

He’s leaning against the entrance of your office, dressed in a black suit that matches his tufts of cropped, raven hair. He must’ve arrived back from some sort of meeting in the Capital.

His ashen eyes fix you in your position where you sat, taking in the mess that is your desk and the scattered parts of the ODM sprawled across the floor. The flicker of the candle casts threatening shadows over his face. You don’t look at him, using the gear as an excuse to focus your attention onto instead of his frame. It was startling how his presence alone could make you feel so… _visible_.

“Did you even hear what I just said?”

“I did,” you clip back instantly, busying your hands with the ODM once more, “And with all due respect, I already am one. This isn’t any different from how I usually work.”

“The expedition’s in two days. We don’t need you dying from some half-assed performance from you because you’re tired,” he snaps, almost as if he’s given this lecture an innumerable amount of times before. Who the hell does he think he is? Your _father?_

“I’ve functioned on less before.”

“Does that mean you should?”  
  
“You’re awake with me right now and you seem to fare rather well.”

"Trust me, I don't."  
  
"Well, you have enough energy in you to hide it. I can do the same."

He releases a sigh, apparently seeing the utter uselessness at continuing your little spat. At the sound of chafing fabric, you think for a moment that he’s finally taking his leave, until a bundle of fabric is thrown unceremoniously at your face.

“ _What the hell?"_

It’s his jacket, you realise, the item of clothing falling into your lap. Blinking, all you can do is stare bewilderedly at him.

“If you’re so adamant on sitting on that filthy floor then I’m assuming you’re fine sleeping on it as well.”

Intruding into your office, he approaches your desk and swipes a hand under it. Dust crumbles from underneath and his eyes narrow, fingers swiftly cleaned with a handkerchief. You’re still staring at him, and as he realises this, his grey pupils flit to you.

“Take it,” he says with a roll of eyes, now looking at your bed which you hadn’t bothered to make, “Don’t even think of dragging a blanket down from there. You’ll get it dirty.”

Gingerly, you slip the material around your shoulders, leaving the sleeves out to give you room as you could work freely. It carries that same clean smell from before and it’s still warm from when he had worn it, though you suspect _that’s_ not the reason behind the faint flush creeping up your neck. You had expected this encounter with him to have followed a similar route to your first one, not… whatever _this_ was.

 _What the hell_ indeed.

The Captain’s still scanning your room in a judging manner, plainly irked at your lack of organisation and cleanliness. You had picked up on his oddly obsessive cleaning habits a while back, something Hange regularly teased him for. Before he crosses the threshold to leave, he gives you one final look.

“Clean this shit at some point and _go to sleep_.”

The door closes behind him.

You aren’t exactly sure when you _do_ succumb to your fatigue, but as the rising sun lays over your face, it catches not only on your waking features, but the black jacket hanging loosely at your shoulders.

**-+-**

**_Less than 24 hours prior the 57th Expedition_ **

It’s almost _embarrassing_ how out of breath you are from carrying only a few of the many crates you had yet to deal with. As Hange had promised two days ago, the new supply of ODM had arrived, and despite all of the capable occupants existing within the barracks, _you_ found yourself moving the goods from the courtyard to the storage room alone. Apparently your dozen or so training sessions with the gear wasn’t enough to build your upper body strength to a proficient degree just yet.

“You want some help with that?”

Trying to conceal your winded state, you glance up at the voice, mildly surprised to see the 104th’s _Number Two_ \- Reiner Braun - striding towards your direction. Before you can even answer with what little breath you had left, he’s secured three entire crates in his hold.

“Where’re we bringing these?” He asks, turning to you expectantly, and you swear you catch a flicker of mirth in his eyes.  
  
“To the storage room,” you manage to say, blinking meekly, “Thanks.”

Hauling up a single crate, you’re walking through the corridors in a comfortable silence, retracing your route as the blond pulls up beside you.

“I think I’ve seen you around before,” he starts, “I’m Reiner. Reiner Braun. You a soldier?”

“What? No, no, just an engineer,” nudging the door of the storage room open, you drop your load, your now free hand shaking his, “I’m (Y/N).”  
  
He gaily draws a brow.

“Just (Y/N)?”

“Just (Y/N),” you reaffirm.

Making your way back to the courtyard, you hoist up another crate. You’re evidently struggling, arms feeling like twigs that could snap under the weight at any minute. Reiner, this time however, picks up _four_ , smirking at the single box in your hands.

 _Cocky bastard,_ you think, but Shadis _did_ compare his strength to an ox.

“I helped out your friend out with his gear the other day,” you huff, “Bertolt I think his name was.”

“I heard. I bet he stood in your office looking completely lost until you walked in, didn’t he?”

You recall the memory with ease.

“He did, actually.”

Reiner snorts.

“That idiot. What’s inside these anyways?” He asks, tapping the side of the wood with a finger.  
  
“New ODM gear for the expedition tomorrow,” kicking your crate in between sacks of flour, Reiner does the same with his four, “You scared for it?”  
  
“Scared?” Dusting his hands, he pauses thoughtfully, “No, I don’t think so. But I wouldn’t say I’m excited either, unlike _some_ loudmouth bastards.”  
  
“Eren,” you deduce instantly. He snickers.

“Who else would it be? Even before we joined the Scouts, he wouldn’t shut up about killing titans even if it _killed him_. His dedication would be admirable if it wasn’t so _annoying_.”

“Figures.”

Lifting your final crate, Reiner taking the remaining four (your eyes roll at another grin he shoots your way), as you make your way back to the storage room for the last time.

“You’re coming too, right?” His stare moves to your rifle hung across your back. You had been practicing in the forest again earlier, “I gotta say, that gun you got isn’t gonna do much damage against the titans.”

“I know,” you sigh, more than happy as you release the box and feel the relief spread up your arms, “I’m leaving it behind tomorrow anyways. I’ll just be overseeing the route and base we’re establishing then coming back.”

“Sounds like easy work for you then,”Reiner remarks, pushing his crates in with the others. He sighs.

“I’m a terrible shot with guns.”  
  
“Good thing you don’t have to use them.”

He clicks his tongue.

“Damn right.”

You glance behind you.

“That one should be the last. Thank you so much again, seriously.”

“No problem. Just glad I arrived when I did.”

Exiting the storage room, you shake your head with a smile, closing the door after you. You take out your ring of keys, jamming one into the hole and locking it shut.

“Good luck for the expedition then?” You say, turning to face the blond. He smirks.

“Yeah, yeah. Those weak little arms of yours better keep you alive tomorrow.”

“I’ve got more than my arms, Braun,” you shoot back amused, moving to duck under his arm so you could leave, “I have a brain.”

A hand suddenly clamps down on your shoulder. You flinch, following the hand to a stocky set of shoulders and to a face that won’t look at you. Staring at Reiner carefully, you draw your brows together, watching the way his confident guise crumbled completely. Something in the air shifts, pricking the skin at the back of your neck. 

Just like you, tomorrow would be his first expedition. Had his nerves finally settled in?

“(Y/N)…” he begins, swallowing heavily, “You’re a good person.”

You blink.

“Thank you?” Slightly bemused, you awkwardly pat his shoulder as you pass, “You’re a good person too, Reiner.”

And as you move to quickly leave, you miss the way his eyes darken.

The soldier was no more.

**-+-**

You were restless.

The feeling simmered in your stomach and itched across your back where it just wouldn’t leave. What happened there with Reiner… It unnerved you, but for whatever reason, you didn’t know why. No amount of inhales and exhales could get rid of that ugly feeling as you walked back to your office. The lamp-borne shadows cast themselves across the floor, looming larger than ever.

 _The expedition’s tomorrow_ , you remind yourself. It would be your first time leaving the idle comfort of the walls and although you had joked about it with Reiner, you began to doubt your ability. Did you train hard enough? Had you gotten stronger? You still faltered with landing, what if you fell right into the jaws of a titan? Trees - the Captain had mentioned trees. You’d be in a forest, so the environment wouldn’t be _too_ different from when you trained, but still…

_That 60% mortality rate was hardly a laughable figure._

Because it wasn’t, and tomorrow there was no guaranteeing whether you’d make it back, or if you’d join that statistic. You shake your head.

 _No_ , you think firmly, you’d make sure you’d stay alive, that you’d keep on walking at the very least for Erwin, your father and for _her-_

_Red._

_Blood._

**_Titans._ **

The feeling comes out of nowhere. The bile rises again. The jacket’s hot, tight, clammy. Your heart hurts with an aching longing. 

You miss her. 

The sound of approaching footsteps has you looking up. The imagery and sensation dissipates instantly, and whilst some of it still lingers, your mind feels clearer. Bertolt hastily rounds the corner, eyes glued to his shoes. He doesn’t notice you immediately, but when his gaze trail up, you give him a small smile - tired, but genuine.

His eyes avert from yours.

Walking past you, he doesn’t smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got mixed feelings abt this chapter tbh. i got caught in a writing slump + didn't feel that great about how this turned out, but i hope these little subplots and backstories aren't getting too confusing and that they're being explained okay.
> 
> ik we're getting very small crumbs of levi, but i promise he's going to appear much more very soon ;)  
> (also if you can't tell, i love moblit very dearly. him and mike will remain as my two favourite underrated characters)
> 
> as always, comments, bookmarks and kudos are always welcomed + i appreciate any feedback/criticisms!


	5. his dying words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the day of the 57th expedition  
> ; this is what it means to be a scout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided to post this today considering the latest episode was postponed bc of an earthquake but i hope those in Japan are safe and are recovering well. some of the comments under the posts regarding the delay were honestly just plain insensitive and i think we all just need to remind ourselves that at the end of the day, this is a show and human lives will always be the priority over that
> 
> that being said, enjoy the chapter :)

The sky is deceivingly blue on a day of utter bloodshed.

Erwin’s formation is devastated, the damage irreversible. _An abnormal_ was responsible, you caught one of the messenger scouts telling Mike.

“A female- A female titan summoned the horde!” the red-faced soldier yells, your horses pushing forward in this Hell, “They’re tearing through the formation as we speak!”

“She summoned them?” You repeat, glancing to Mike who you shared a wary look with. You both suspected the same thing: that this Female Titan was the traitor, that yet another one of Erwin’s notions had proved themselves true. The scout nods. The grip on your bridle tightens.

“The right flank?” Mike asks, but he already knows the answer. The air is _rife_ with blood: rich, coppery and _sickening_. His nose twitches.

“Completely annihilated. The Commander’s directing the troops around the forest - follow the flares!”  
  
And the scout departs, relaying the same message to those who remained standing.

Your horses swerve as you change your direction, heart thrumming under the rhythmic gallop of your steed. Firing a flare of his own, Mike leads the way, looking over his shoulder every so often, as around you, the world falls into ruin.

No matter how tall the wall you would stand on would be, humanity would always be at the titan’s mercy. They're vaguely human, limbs so disproportionately shaped and contorted it must be by some miracle that they can even _walk._ Large hands snatch soldiers off the ground, off their horses, from the air, dangling them into wide jaws before snapping them shut. There’s an awful crunch of bone and the tear of flesh that comes with the abrupt respite of any dying screams.

And there’s red.

There’s so much red.

Your horses weave their way between the grasp of the beasts, and there’s a lump in your throat you can’t swallow. The ground trembles as the titans throw their weight, ripping through this fever dream that feels so _unreal._ Red-tinged scenes and sounds flash by in a blur, your mind and body so overwhelmed that it overrides the swell of fear. Maybe it's the adrenaline, maybe it's the shock. 

“ _Fuck!_ ”

Your head snaps up, eyes immediately honing in on a soldier afar. His name escapes you, face hardly familiar, but he’s engaging with a 5 meter. His hooks sink into the side of the titan’s neck, puling him in an arc to slice the nape, when a dull ‘ _click!_ ’ resonates in the air, and he loses his momentum.

He’s falling to the ground and you wince at the sight of the painful landing. The soldier recovers quickly though, managing to avoid the hand that comes crashing down at him. The nape’s in his view once more. Fingers quickly pull at the triggers, his anchor digging back into the neck and he’s anticipating the yank of the ODM again _when-_

_Click._

Nothing. The gear doesn’t reel him in. It’s releasing hardly enough gas.

He’s stuck.

That dreaded realisation hits him as it does to you, and all you can do is watch in silent terror as the 5 meter twists around, eyes bright with morbid delight at the sight of cornered prey. He’s pulling at the triggers again, clearly panicked, when another ‘ _click!_ ’ sounds and you swear your heart stops for a moment, because it’s _almost as if-_

A hand rams down, killing him instantly where he stood.

“Zacharias!” You yell, snapping back around, “That soldier back there, he _-_ “  
  
“Turn away and keep looking forwards.”

He doesn’t look at you, face darkened and voice void of empathy. You’re stunned.

“But I think-"

“Turn around.”

He’s not listening. The forest comes into view.

"The gear-"  
  
"Turn around."

“But _Mike-_ “

“ _Turn around, (Y/N)!_ ” The older scout snaps louder, angrier and you flinch, because Mike would usually hear you out and hardly did he ever address you by your first name unless it was serious. But his expression tells you that he’s just as haunted as you are from the needless deaths around him, and so, you swallow your doubt and lower your head.

Your horses breach the first line of trees. You enter the forest.

**-+-**

The traps are a success.

Spinous hooks tear through the layers of sinew in a flash of burning gunpowder. Erwin’s command to empty the arsenals’s barely audible over the deafening rattle of the explosions. The tree you’re in trembles under the force. You and Hange activate the last of the traps, rendering the lean, towering frame completely motionless.

“These worked out well,” Hange comments giddily, kicking the emptied barrel, “She can’t even move to scratch an itch.”

The traps had been a culmination of your knowledge and planning and the details of the experiments Hange had conducted with Eren. The arrowheads dig deeper into the flesh with every twitch the titan makes, essentially paralysing each limb the more they tried to heal. For now, you allow yourself to release your breath with some relief. Around you, the soldiers gape.

 _They worked_.

Still though, that feeling of worry from earlier with that soldier had yet to disappear completely.

Humanity’s two strongest soldiers launch themselves into the air, bodies arching in a deadly manner to slice through the muscle-exposed hands that cover the nape. Inside resided the traitor Erwin would exploit for the better for humanity once he got his hands on them. _Except—_

Blades shatter upon impact, fragments of the ultrahard steel hailing down. You stand up immediately, neck straining to catch sight of the crystal-like hardening coating her knuckles. Mike swings back on the branch beside your brother, the Captain choosing to rest atop the blonde-haired beast.

With the intent of blowing her wrists away, Erwin gives the order to ready the traps once more. Your hand grips the ignition, body coiled with tension as you wait for the signal. The look on the Captain’s face is absolutely murderous, knife-sharp eyes alight with an unforgiving look. You shudder.

He speaks in a quiet tone, his exterior calm but you can catch the underlying fury in his voice. The threats of dismemberment and torture he graphically describes stir something within the Female Titan, her blue pupils dilating, mouth parting and all of a sudden, she shifts, releasing an unearthly scream.

You’re slamming your hands to your ears, cape and hair whipping your face alike. The forest stills again after a pregnant beat, the surrounding soldiers beginning to relax and the Captain scoffing when Mike speaks up.

“Erwin - it stinks.”

Your brother turns.

“From where?”  
  
“Every direction, multiple sources,” he pauses; sniffs again, “It’s a whole mob of them.”

And sure enough, the ground rumbles under the weight of dozens of footsteps. Fleshy tones of naked skin breach the otherwise green landscape from all around, and immediately you advance to a higher branch. Weaponless, all you can do is watch from above. The escort squad moves to engage, except they’re completely ignored by the monsters and it’s with a gasp that you realise: their target’s the Female Titan.

The smallest of the group latches onto her leg, teeth ripping through the tendons before she’s completely swarmed. Erwin’s command is bellowed over the sound of devouring flesh, every capable scout moving to defend the titan responsible for the slaughter of so many soldiers.

Steam billows in the air in a suffocatingly thick cloud as the first of the titans fall before your eyes. Amidst the fighting however, your stare drifts to Mike. He’s dangling dangerously low, weaving between tree-thick legs and putting himself at incredible risk of being trampled. _Why isn’t he-_

_Click._

“ _Mike, get back!_ ”

He wrenches around at your warning, eyes widening as he narrowly avoids a foot that comes storming down. His movements are uncharacteristically convulsive, usually unseen from a soldier of his skill. He’s scarcely managing to control himself as he swerves to the nearest branch. You make your way there instantly, hauling him up.

“Take off your gear Zacharias,” you order harshly, trying to restrain your heart which threatened to lurch out of your chest right there and then.  
  
“ _What?_ ”

“Take off your gear,” you repeat impatiently, growing more and more frustrated because he wasn’t listening to you and you didn’t have time. Suspicion tides into apprehension. You were so sure you had checked the supply of gear beforehand, _why the fuck—_

“—would I do that?!”

“Just listen to me for once and show me your gear!”

Your sudden outburst of anger renders Mike silent, so unused to this display of uncontrolled emotion. You detach the main housing of the ODM from behind him, and he watches as you pull out a small knife and wrench the blade into the screws. Unlatching the side of the apparatus, you peer in, eyes widening and mouth parting as your expression morphs into one of utter horror.

The mechanics inside are completely rusted, the surface of the metal coated with the corrosive compound. Perfectly _fresh, new_ ODM, damaged from the insides entirely.

That soldier from earlier - his gear must’ve been in the same state. Someone had sabotaged the new supply.

“ _Fuck._ ”

It’s barely a whisper, but Mike hears it nonetheless.  
  
“What is it?”

Your eyes harden as the question flies over your head. You’ve removed your own gear, taking it apart much like you had done with Mike’s, but you quickly find that it’s fine. So some were damaged, others weren’t. The Scouts were currently in the deadliest game of raffle. _Shit_ , this isn’t good.

Rising to your feet, you adjust your ODM back on. Mike’s rests in your grip as you nod to the remaining belt around his waist.

“Take the rest off. It’s useless.”

And before he can say anything else, you turn.

“I’m going to Erwin.”

Landing on the branch where your brother stood, you care very little as you trip over your footing.

“Commander!”

Blue eyes shift to your direction, observing the grave look that was surely etched on his face, now mirrored on yours as you approached. Erwin and seen you with Mike a few moments prior. What were you doing here?

“Call your men back. This is a mistake.”

The command you spit out has Erwin briefly taken by surprise, but he secures a grip on his features before you could see it. Below, his troops are still engaging with the horde. No doubt there would be casualties, but you were usually so trusting of his judgement despite the cost.

“No.”

“But-!”

“ _No_ ,” he reaffirms, noting the furious disbelief written across your face, “I believe I was clear in my orders and you’re in no position to-“

“ _Your orders_ are going to everyone killed.” 

That gets his attention.

“The new ODM gear’s malfunctioning,” you explain, holding up Mike’s gear before he can interrupt any further. First Mike, now Erwin. No one was listening to you. You were pissed.

“They’ve been tampered with. The gas isn’t releasing properly and because of this, the wires can’t pull you in like they usually do. I don’t know how many are affected, but they're distinguished by a clicking sound when you pull the trigger. I saw a soldier dying earlier as a result of this. I think-“

“The Special Ops Squad,” Erwin catches on and you nod anxiously. Eren’s safety alongside theirs was now compromised.

“Your gear?” He asks.

“I checked. It’s fine.”

“Order their return,” he tells you, now moving to the edge to overlook the carnage below. He makes his decision:

“We’re retreating back to Karanes.”

Giving a nod, you fire a green flare, watching beyond the canopy for a response. Another pillar of coloured smoke is released into the sky a few moments later, and you’re on the move at once. They’re a significant distance away, which does nothing to settle the urgency gripping your entire form whole. Your muscles pulse dully under the sudden strain of using the ODM properly, with Erwin’s final order of retreat and the firing of a blue flare fading into the distance.

Your breath and heartbeat are all that you can hear, thrumming in your skull as you maintained a steady pace.

_Pull._

_Release._

_Aim._

Shouting sounds somewhere behind you. Multiple, arguing voices, all familiar. _Shit,_ it’s the squad. When had they changed their position and _why?_

You turn around instantly in a moment of spiking panic. Losing your balance, your body launches downwards under the sudden shift in weight, stomach lurching and world blurring. It’s only due to a hastily shot hook that you’re back upright, gasping with the surge of adrenaline. The vertigo clouds your vision, the pounding in your ears louder than ever, but you can hear their _fear_ , you can hear their **_panic_**. Your grip thoughtlessly tightens around the triggers.

_You need to reach them, you need to warn them, order their return like Erwin had asked before it’s too la-_

Your training abandons you. The gear gives a dying hiss as the last of the gas spews out. You don’t have time to aim another hook. You’re falling - _hurtling_ \- downwards, dropping the few metres you were just suspended at. Pain ruptures in your shoulder as your body meets the ground, the ODM at your sides rattling with every rolling motion.

Every curse you know seethes from your lips. You need to get up, but you can’t. Your head pounds. Your body hurts. You’re nauseated, dizzy and you can’t see beyond the black spots riddling your vision. Fingers fist the grass to gain back any semblance of control. A thundering roar echoes in the distance, accompanied with an eruption of lightning but you can't think at all. You had ran out of gas in the forest, alone.

 _Fuck!_ How could you have been so _careless?_

Staggering to your feet, you deduce that you hadn’t sustained any real injury - your shoulder had absorbed most of the fall though. It continues to pulse the sharpest as you drag yourself through the forest, boots scraping against the floor rather than lifting. Your vision had hardly cleared either. You could barely focus on the path in front of you, the black spots persisting with each thrum of a headache. The ODM at your waist may have lost the weight of the gas, but it now drags you down with the burden of failure.

_Is this where you’d truly die?_

Something nudges against your foot, weary eyes drifting upwards when a cold punch of horror crushes any feeling of tiredness.

A hand.

_No._

You stumble back, face blanching with widened eyes, gut _clenching_ with dread. You would’ve fallen had it not been for the thick tree trunk beside you to lean on. All you can do is follow the hand to a lifeless arm, up to a bloody cape and to a slumped mop of bronze-brown hair, face down in filth.

Oluo.

 _No. Nononono, this_ **_can’t--_ **

Your eyes look up, your legs give in. A hand may press against your mouth, but the acid rises regardless and you’re retching, the poison heaving out from your stomach.

Petra’s arched against a tree, eyes empty and hair drifting eerily in the breeze. Gunther’s dangling low from his wire, crumpled in on himself from the deep slash across his stomach that taints the ground beneath red. Eld’s missing his legs below his knees, blood pooling beneath him.

All four of them: dead, unmoving, lifeless, their bodies strewn carelessly across the forest. Your hands tremble as you delicately roll Oluo’s corpse over and tear the winged emblem from his jacket. You knew of the tradition; it was now your job to maintain it. His half-lidded stare haunts you with the horrible truth.

**_You_ ** _failed them. This was_ **_your_ ** _fault._

You do the same with Gunther, clutching his patch with Oluo’s.

_You forgot your training, succumbed to panic and wasted your gas._

As you take Petra’s, you close her eyes. She deserves to rest peacefully.

_You were careless with the lives you were entrusted with._

Kneeling next to Eld, your fingers brush his cloak away. The stitching snaps as you rip the patch off and you slip all four of them carefully into your breast pocket, above your heart. 

They felt so fucking heavy.

With downcast eyes do you move to leave, tears burning the corner of your eyes when something - _no_ \- **somebody** seizes your wrist with an iron grip. You wrench around instantly.

“ _Eld?_ ”

It’s no more than a hushed whimper, but your voice grows with every dire repeat of his name. You scramble back to his side, moving his hand from your wrist to clasp yours. He crushes it instantly.

_He’s alive._

His eyes are wide, mouth opening only to form gurgling gasps. _Shit._ What could you do?

“It’s okay,” you tell him, trying to calm your voice to reassure the dying soldier, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He’s lost so much blood. It’s on the grass, on your clothes, on your palm, but you do not care. It's settled in your heart already. If you were going to do _one_ fucking thing right today, it would be you using your unworthy life to comfort the man losing his own.

_This wasn’t fair, it should be y—_

“My si…”

The words are barely out before he’s coughing violently, blood frothing out his mouth and the force strong enough to send some of it streaking across your cheek. You hush him gently, trying to conceal your tears and wavering voice.  
  
“Your sister?” You ask. He can’t nod - the simple action would exert too much out of him - but his eyes tell you everything. They stare at you with the look of a man so desperate to hold onto life, so desperate to say one last thing to those that he loved that your own hold on his hand tightens. He’s choking out a name, tears glossing over such defeated eyes.

“Emi- _Emilia--_ “

“I’ll see to her myself,” you say at once, “I won’t let any of you be forgotten. I promise.”

You mean it entirely. The vow burns into your heart.

Closing his eyes, he gives a small smile. His secures your grasp in your palm, but you can feel it - his pulse is fading, you’re losing him and there’s nothing you can do.

And after a beat, the fingers lose their pressure. His hand goes slack, slumping on his chest which does not rise. You call his name meekly. He doesn’t respond.

He’s dead.

Mike doesn’t say anything as he places a large hand of his own on your shoulder. He had watched the exchange from a respectful distance, both of your horses in tow. Now though, he watches as you stand, the emotion in your eyes swirling thickly for a split second before it disappears entirely. Your mouth twitches neither up or down and your eyes are neither heartlessly dry or tearily wet. Just like your brother, you’re indecipherable.

“You okay?” He asks, handing you the reins of your horse, “You hurt anywhere?”

You shake your head almost robotically, ignoring the sharp pull in your shoulder as you readjusted your saddle. You don’t need anyone worrying about you, not when the lives lost outweighed the petty hurt caused by your own blunder with the gear. It would heal in its own time.

Mike doesn’t press you any further, something you’re grateful for as you mount your horse and follow him out the forest. A different team of soldiers ride past you; it’s the clean up squad. They’ll be recovering the bodies left behind.

Shouting drowned in anguish slices through the air as you approach the temporary camp.

“ _Don’t any of you have any human emotions at all?!_ ”

A soldier, teary-eyed and shaking with fury, yells his throat hoarse at the Commander’s turned back. Erwin continues to walk, his eyes flicking to you and Mike before fixing his stare in front of him.

“Ivan and the others will be reported as missing,” he states, voice resolute, “That’s my final decision. Get back in line, soldier.”

Dismounting once more, you press a gentle hand to your horse’s face, offering him a bucket of oats which a cadet - _Connie Springer_ you recognise - hands you. A hushed murmur runs over the remaining scouts, the numbers significantly less as your eyes peered up. Your stomach twists with an ugly feeling when the clean-up squad returns, four capes folded under a soldier’s arm and their wearers cloaked in shroud.

You can’t look at any of them. Erwin, Hange, Mike, the Captain.

_The Captain._

The Captain who just lost his squad. The Captain who stares at the covered bodies, eyes darker than usual. The one who had trained you with the ODM, who had told you _not to waste your gas._

He hasn’t seen you yet. You could run now, ensure he never sees your face again, but the selfish thought’s shoved away as quickly as it came. Shame fills you entirely, dread tricking down your back like ice at the idea of even _facing him_. But as much as your mind resists it, your feet betray you as they lead you to do the one thing you knew you had to do.

Your hand reaches for his wrist, grabbing his attention as stormy eyes shoot dangerously to you. Before his lips can even pull to scorn however, you’ve enclosed his fingers around four winged emblems with your own, forcing yourself to lock your stare with him.

"I'm sorry."

Your fingers unconsciously dig a little harder into his and you flick your eyes away for the briefest moment in which you miss the way his eyes soften a considerable shade. You can’t read him, of course, but you don’t care if he can read you. Maybe you’re hoping that just this once, he can catch your remorse, hear the words which you just can't say. Taking a deep breath, keeping your voice steady proves much more laborious than you realise.

“It was the least I could do.”

**-+-**

The green material balances atop your forearm as you knock against the sturdy wood. It’s a chilly evening, the last of the sun disappearing under a canopy of blues and murky shadows which brings a biting breeze. You hear a gentle voice call from inside, saying that they’ll “ _be there soon_ ”, leaving you to stare at the scratches in the door intently.

Time couldn’t stretch any longer.

It had been a few hours since the Survey Corps returned from what could only be seen as a complete disaster. The traps had failed, the gear was damaged, _countless_ had died with no bodies to account for and Eren _would've_ been captured, had it not been for the Captain and Mikasa retrieving him in time. Despite his efforts to hide it though, you had noticed it: he was limping. It only added to the guilt that sunk miserably into your stomach. The contempt hurled at the Scout's arrival from your unfortunate audience still rang lowly in your head.

_Look at ‘em. Raised hell this morning just to return with half of ‘em gone._

_Wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been disbanded tomorrow._ _A bunch of loose canons - the whole lot of 'em._

_Explain yourself! How can you say this is for humanity’s future?!_

_Do your findings justify the amount who died? Can the dead rest with no regrets?_

_Our taxes aren’t paying you to kill my son!_

Erwin’s face has never been darker.

A meeting had been scheduled for later this very evening, no doubt to consult what would follow from an aftermath as brutal as this. Before that though, you still had to talk with Hange privately yourself. The ODM was the current subject of concern, but after a brief inspection of Eren’s titan corpse following his fight in the forest, there had been various observations made by Hange which they felt needed a discussion. The exact details of their findings you're unsure of, but it becomes the least of your worries as the door swings open.

Revealed in the doorway is a girl around your age, whose soft, brown eyes regard you curiously beneath long fringes of golden hair. An older woman appears behind her - her _mother_ you realise, a plump woman whose own eyes skim over your uniform, spotting the emblem on your chest which felt so wrong for you to wear. She surely recognises it though, and from the glance at the fabric in your hands, her eyes well with tears, a hand bought to her mouth.

She knows.

Face impassive, you exhale deeply, feeling the guilt that began to rise again. You step forward, Eld’s cloak bought to focus as you held it out to the girl and her mother.

“Emilia Jinn?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the lack of levi this chapter, I'm just building the plot up for future chapters and i hope that the events that transgressed were interesting enough regardless of his absence. i can definitely promise that he's becoming a heavily prominent character these next few chapters tho so hopefully you stay around to read that :)
> 
> thank you to everyone who's left comments, kudos + just shown their support overall - they honestly motivate me to keep writing and i appreciate it so much!


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